


Fire and Fury

by Strega7



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, F/M, Falling In Love, Mating Bond, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strega7/pseuds/Strega7
Summary: Two years after when they first met, Cassian and Nesta have a run-in.  She has isolated herself, pushing everyone away, ignoring Cassian since the war, but the sparks between them have always been there.  This is mostly just serious smut, but a glimpse into their relationship and hearts too.Based on insights revealed in Maas' bonus scene from Nesta & Cassian.  Based after ACOFAS.  I didn't like how that one left us with Nesta and Cassian, but I also appreciated that it wasn't a quick "happy ever after."  We're complex, broken beings who don't always do what would make us happy.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron & Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 32
Kudos: 137





	1. Two years

“What are you doing in here, Nesta?” He had a dangerous smile on his face and he used the soft but deadly commander’s tone that would have had anyone else shitting their pants and running for the exits. But not her. Never her. She turned slowly to face him, defiance simmering in her eyes, queenly coldness radiating from her. She really had no shame. She really would never apologize for anything, no matter who she hurt or what lines it crossed. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

He hadn’t seen her in months. He’d given up trying to make nice, trying to connect, trying to untangle the gnarled knot of emotions and heartbreak between them. “You have your lives, and I have mine,” is what she’d said, and as far as he could tell she had never looked back. They had all tried. Tried to reach her, tried to be there for her for whatever grief or trauma she was going through, tried to be patient and understanding. But no. She brushed them all off like they were specks of dust from her sleeve. Beneath notice, nonexistent. She’d even managed to alienate Elaine. He never would have thought Nesta would let that happen. So after awhile… well, they had just let her. It didn’t feel like there was anything left to do. She refused every offer, rebuffed every olive branch. And she was stubborn enough that he doubted there was anything in the world to make her look back. It was like she had closed that chapter of her life, the chapter  _ of him _ , and put it back on the fucking shelf. Never to be opened again. 

His heart had hurt for a long time. More like - felt empty, or like a piece of it had been ripped out and just left there to bleed out. He  _ knew _ that she had felt what he had felt, she had been ready to die there with him on that bloody battlefield, covering his body with hers before Hybern, and yet… she had walked away. Just walked away. Left him there, alone. Left him bleeding out and didn’t care. 

So he’d eventually pulled himself together. Repaired the shambles inside, constructing walls along the lines where that piece of his heart used to be. Like a cauterized wound where a limb used to be. Sometimes he could still feel the ghost of it, and he’d wake up in the night screaming for her. Shaking and screaming her name. But then he’d remember. He’d make himself remember it all. He’d make himself stop hoping. Because to hope was to risk bleeding out again. 

Then he’d begun taking up her tactics; deciding that being unfeeling, uncaring towards her was the only way he would survive. 

So, he smiled again that smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and closed the distance between them. “Hello, Nesta. It is good to see you.” The words an old taunt between them. “Though rifling through Rhys’ well-secured private study is a new one. Low on rent money, is it?” He used that same mocking tone that he knew grated on her, the smile he knew made her see red, though it had been awhile since he’d successfully baited her. The last few encounters she’d simply ignored him, refusing their usual clash of weaponized words and glances. The last few times she’d just walked away. Like before.  _ By far  _ more painful than her bladed words. He was sure she knew that. 

“It wasn’t  _ that _ secure” was all she said. Dismissive, disinterested. 

He took another step forward. She was already backed up against the edge of the broad desk where he’d startled her, but she lifted her chin in defiance, managing to stare down her nose at him even as he towered over her. His grin grew wider as he leaned towards her. He wasn’t sure if he sought to intimidate her - knowing that she couldn’t be, or if he just wanted to clash with that steel in her eyes at closer quarters. But as he moved closer, an old memory flashed in his mind of the two of them in similar postures once before. In a room far away, in what felt like a lifetime ago. Her scent, like it had that other time, hit him as he drew close, and in response he felt something caged within him begin clawing to get out. But he kept it contained. He would not let that part of himself out. The part that belonged to her and her alone. He tried to dismiss that memory, that first time when, without conscious thought, staring each other down, she had extended her neck to him and he had leaned in and grazed the tip of his nose down the side of her throat. And then he had followed that same trail back up her neck with the gentlest brush of his lips, then finally a moment’s taste of her on the tip of his tongue before she broke the spell. Standing again so close, alone together in a darkened room, he watched that same memory flash in her eyes. In response, with what he could only call a cruel smile, she locked eyes with him and mockingly offered him a slight tilt of her head, once more displaying the delicate column of her throat. 

And that was how they found themselves here. 

The tore at each other with nails and lips and teeth. Clawing at one another. Two years of pent-up fury and frustration. And he wanted to have her right there on that desk beneath her. Her nails raked down the back of his shoulders, through his linen tunic, drawing blood.

He was burning. Burning up -and at the same time drowning. She was like a tsunami, a rip-tide, threatening to drag him under. But he would go down fighting.

Their teeth clashed and their mouths met again and again in violent combat. Like they could consume one another with their lips and breath and tongues. His hands were ruching up the folds of her skirts up above her waist. The soft skin of her thighs and ass beneath his roving palms and fingers threatened to overwhelm his senses as he squeezed and pulled, trying to draw her ever closer -to cancel the distance between them. To finally find a way to cross that chasm.  _ O Mother above,  _ his mind screamed, _ was she not wearing anything beneath this dress?  _

He gripped her hard as she writhed and raged beneath him. His lips devouring her neck, her breasts, biting and sucking with insatiable hunger. He felt her mouth, her tongue, her teeth roaming angrily, seeking purchase, trying to unlock him, to conquer him. She took the soft slope of skin and muscle where his neck joined his shoulder and bit down hard, pulling her teeth along that spot, and he groaned at the sensation, all pain and pleasure, primal and erotic. Her demand was in every scrape and pull. Furious and unyielding. Like she’d tear him apart. His fingers found the lacings of his trousers, and a moment later his cock sprung free. The fire was consuming them both. Her folds already dripping, he found her entrance and without a thought in his head or hesitation, he thrust into her. 

And the world stopped. They froze, and the enormity of what he’d just done came crashing down on him. They had danced around each other, dueling with wit and sharp tongue and desire for  _ two _ years. And yet,  _ oh gods _ he was inside her. He was inside her and she felt  _ so fucking good _ . His mind had gone blank, lost all sense of time or grounding, all thought scattered. His consciousness existing solely in the feeling of him inside of her. His chest heaved, exhaling a ragged breath. He lifted his face from her breasts, where his lips had been a moment ago. Saw the blazing in her face. Met those eyes. Gods her eyes. He wasn’t sure if he should feel ashamed- or angry that she had pushed him to this point. This was never what he’d intended. But looking in her eyes, he saw the mirror to what was raging inside him. He saw her need, her longing, the fire she wrapped herself in - he saw all of it; and... he saw surprise. As if she could feel what he was feeling in this moment also. As if none of this had gone as she had intended either. But what now? 

Without taking his eyes off of her’s. He slowly moved. Gently pushing deeper inside of her. Her mouth opened and a small sound escaped her, something between a cry and a sigh. Her eyelids fluttered and closed for a moment. She looked pained, but softer, like her heart was breaking.

His fingers traced the edges of her face, the other still gripping her hip where they were joined. Neither were now breathing, like the air had been sucked out of their lungs. Their bodies were thrumming. That’s what it felt like, a ringing in the air, a humming of sound and feeling vibrating in their joined bodies.  _ Oh gods, oh gods, _ he thought. He dragged his eyes back to hers as she half opened them to meet his; her lids were heavy now, like she was drugged, but beneath them he could see her fire smoldering, the molten core beneath this slim force of nature. And he moved again. So slowly. A retreat and a pushing again. This time her expression crumpled completely and her mouth opened like she was crying out. She made a strangled, anguished sound like pain leaving the body, but her fingers dug deeper into his arm, holding onto him like she would drift away, unmoored without his body to ground her. 

“I’ve got you sweetheart,” he murmured his old endearment, the blood pounding like the ocean in his ears. Her skin, usually like ice, was on fire. His fingers brushed down her arm, and it was like a furnace blazing beneath him, against his groin, around his cock. She  _ was _ fire and she was going to consume him, body and soul. She finally took a ragged breath, her pupils dilating as her nostrils flared. He wondered if his scent had the same effect as hers did on him. If it did, she had never let it show.  _ Nesta _ . So skillfully guarded. So powerfully protected behind high walls. And yet in this moment, it felt like all the fortress walls were down. Not a one in sight. 

He leaned towards her neck and grazed the tip of his nose along its contours, letting the smell of her wash over him, the warmth of his breath trailing his nose’s slow movements along her skin. He saw goosebumps rise on her arms, and she made another soft sound. A muffled moan, torn between pleasure and grief. He could feel her inner walls constrict around him, buried deep within her. This time it was his turn to let out a strangled noise. He wasn’t sure he’d ever breathe again. This feeling, this feeling,  _ the fucking feel of her _ . He marveled. What had taken them so long? Why had it taken two years of pain and torture to get here? But even as he wondered, he cut that thought adrift. He knew he could rage and question all he liked, but it didn’t really matter. Not now that he had her heat between his hands, her core around him. Only now mattered. This feeling of him and her, no armor or weapons or walls between them. 

Their eyes met again. Her one hand was gripped on the desk edge, the other on his bicep, fingers still digging in. She was perched on the desk, one leg slung over the arm that gripped her hip, the other wrapped around his waist, locking him tight to her; he was standing, holding her body to him, angled just right so they fit together, practically upright and face to face. He adjusted, and her other leg swung around to wrap around him, locking her ankles behind. Then they both shifted to gain leverage as they paused and studied each other.  _ Should I be afraid of this _ ? he wondered.  _ No doubt I’ll live to regret it _ . But it didn’t seem to matter; he couldn’t have stopped himself at that point if he tried.

So he moved once more, and this time she threw back her head and let out a loud moan - a sound so deeply erotic, he almost lost it then and there. The next sound she made vibrated deep inside of him, untethering that primal part he’d kept so carefully leashed. 

So he pushed again, moving slowly, in and out, pulling her close, rocking her body further and closer with each gentle stroke, savoring the tightness wrapped around him. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, her breasts quivering up and down as she gulped down oxygen. Like a drowning woman. Her eyes were closed now, strands of her hair coming undone from where it had been swept atop her head, her lips were parted. It was beyond anything he’d ever thought up, the feel and taste and touch of her, yet he wondered if he was dreaming. 

And each time his shaft drove into her deepest point, her breathing hitched, and oh gods, the noises she made. Again and again. They began to melt into one another, moving as one, their breathing picking up as he began to go a little faster. The friction and feel of her quickly bringing him close to the edge. He could feel the build inside himself, each time he drew her towards him, each time the core of their bodies hit flush against one another. She was gasping now. Clinging to him and panting as she pushed back against the desk, angling herself towards him to receive each of his blows. There were tears leaking out the corners of her closed eyes, and her face was so full of unguarded emotion, he thought his heart would burst. 

“Oh gods, Nesta,” and he realized he had whisper-moaned it aloud. Her steel gray blue eyes captured his again and this time she leaned forward and softly captured his mouth in hers, even as they rocked back and forth, even as he plunged deeper inside of her with each thrust. Her tongue slipped between his lips, greedily meeting his, and his brain stalled, the whole world going black for a moment as her kiss gently pulled on his lower lip between hers. Her eyes were open now, blazing into his and it felt like the ground beneath his feet was shifting. Like he was losing his footing in this world, ready to tumble - into what he didn’t know. Their bodies collided again and again, gaining in violence and urgency. 

There was a roaring in his ears so loud it sounded like the times he’d flown in a driving gale. He could feel a tingling gathering in his body, coalescing into a throbbing center. It grew, like a tickling itch, and he could feel it in every nerve in his body. But he had never felt anything like it before. It felt like a buzzing, a vibration that filled his whole being as it rose in volume and pitch. It grew and grew until there was a sudden, sharp intake of breath, a holding of breath- for a moment that lasted an eternity. And then a slow shattering. Like dissolving into a thousand pieces from the inside out, and as he felt it flow through his body, he heard her choke out, “Cassian-” Hearing his name on her lips made that clawing thing inside of him thrash furiously. 

Hearing her say his name was like a piece of the puzzle sliding into place and he suddenly knew -it was _her_ he was feeling. This was _her_ body dissolving in pleasure as it flooded through her in wave after wave. His mouth covered hers as he could feel the release shuddering in her center, contracting, again and again _around_ _him_ sheathed inside of her, and in that moment, overwhelmed by her pleasure, as he pushed deep one more time he convulsed and came undone too. 

They stayed there, damp foreheads pressed against one another as the world tilted beneath their feet. Cassian’s vision had gone black, and only after what felt like hours had passed, did the room slowly begin to swim back into focus. His calloused fingertips at last began moving slowly, gently stroking the skin behind her neck where he had, at the end, clutched her to him. He let out a shuddering breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The ringing in his ears hadn’t stopped and his body felt like all the bones had dissolved. His knees trembled and he hoped they wouldn’t give out. He could hear his own heartbeat, slow and steady, and he felt a soothing peace wash over him, like the calm after a violent storm. He could feel her soft and steady beat as well, accompaniment to his; they beat together and he thought they sounded like a gentle song. Gods, he never wanted to move again. He just wanted to stand here, feeling her in his hands, letting her scent wash over him and basking in the warmth of the fire within her. 

She didn’t seem to want to move either. Didn’t want to fracture this moment, as she had once done long ago. She seemed to have an exhaustion in her that he couldn’t remember ever seeing before. Like she’d been trying to outrun something. And had been for awhile. Like, maybe, she was too tired to keep running anymore. Still buried inside her, noses still touching, he leaned in and pressed his lips on the corner of hers, then to the tops of her lips, then the bottom, then a kiss squarely on hers, softly, with so much tenderness, he saw her scrunch her eyes again.  _ Was that a tear hovering on her lashes?  _ But before any coherent thoughts could form in him-

“I hate you,” she rasped, sounding hoarse and exhausted. 

“No you don’t.” he responded, his lips still against hers, and he knew she could feel his smile widening against her mouth. She made a strangled sound that could have been a laugh, and the side of her mouth twitched. They were silent a while longer. 

Finally, she said, “But you should hate  _ me _ ,” something sad and flat creeping back into her words. 

He sighed. “Sweetheart,” he said, offering up his favorite light insult-endearment, “you will probably infuriate me til the day I die, -which will no doubt also be as a result of you…” He took another deep breath, exhaling loudly through his nose, like he was already demonstrating his much beleaguered patience. Nesta snorted, and he was happy for the sound. “But I don’t think I could ever hate you. No matter what you do or how  _ damn hard _ you try.” He moved to meet her gaze, and something sparked in hers just as something danced in his. She made some noncommittal noise and finished dryly, “I’ll try harder.” 

He grinned. “Well,” he said teasingly, “you could try  _ other _ things.” 

After they were dressed and standing, still with hardly space between them, he simply said. “Come home with me.” The way he said it -it wasn’t pleading, it wasn't cajoling or joking, it was just … honest? A sincere invitation? The possibility for something to flow differently than it had before. An off-ramp from the road that they had been traveling all this time. The road that  _ she _ had chosen to travel. 

He could see that steel coming back into her eyes, but he cut her short before some sharp retort could come out of her mouth. He smiled, but the words came out firmly, with finality as he said, “No.” He paused, and then, “We’re done with games, Nesta.” He held her gaze, as he could see conflicting responses warring within her. But he said again, gentler, and with the hint of something else, “Come home with me, and let me make you feel something other than rage or emptiness.” Her eyes flickered, but even as he could scent the retort coming, he was sure that he felt her legs wobble for a moment at the thought of all the things that he could do to her, all the  _ many _ things that he could make her  _ feel _ . He let a lazy grin show on his face. A knowing glint in his eyes. “C’mon, Nesta” he growled, “Don't you want to  _ learn _ to play nice?” The throwback innuendo hit home. That fire flared again in her steely eyes. The mountain cat slowly stretching and eyeing the wolf in front of her. But this time, she let the curve of a smile show on her lips. “Alright, I’ll come…” She paused, leaving that hanging in the air before finishing with, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations low.” And then she actually had to suppress a laugh as Cassian choked in surprise, wiping the cocky look off his face. 

He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her roughly to him. Her breath hitched as she felt his body burning like a heater against hers, and with their bodies pressed front to front, she felt his hardness against her again and realized that, just like that, he was ready for another round. 

“Really?” she tried for a sneer, but there was no razor to her voice. He shrugged with a low laugh that skittered over her bones, and she realized that -just like that, she was wet again and ready for him too. He seemed to read that in her face, or take in the change in scent, because he was suddenly looking at her with that wild, ravenous intensity. Like he’d eat her alive. “Whenever you’re...  _ ready _ ,” he grinned.

But instead he took her hand and pulled her out the french doors of Rhys’ study, out onto the second floor balcony. She hesitated, as if she was wondering whether she could still retreat, pull back up her armor and repair her battlements or simply run and hide. But he didn’t give her time to let those thoughts gather momentum. This time would be different. He pulled her to him again, wrapping his muscled arms around her and shot into the sky. 


	2. Defenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night. More smut and romance as Nesta’s defensive walls crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously ignored a few things, like the fact that Nesta should be in Illyrian mountains now. Or that Nesta had overcome her fear of bathtubs. 
> 
> Also- dialogue is the hardest part of writing for me! Kudos to all who have captured funny, interesting dialogue.

[nesta]

They landed hard on the balcony of his apartment, on one of the upper levels of a multi-story building on the edge of Velaris, one side against the mountains sheltering the city. He was warm protection against the chill of the night air, and to her surprise she found she did not protest the feel of her head against his chest or the heat of his body through her thin dress. Nor the strength of his arms beneath her knees and shoulders, pulling her close to him.  _ Gods she was tired.  _ She had fought for so long to ignore him, to forget him, to push him away, trying to force him to move on and find someone else, that she just felt exhausted at the thought of working up the effort to push him away again. She hadn’t realized that it had taken such a toll on her as well - to ignore him, try to forget him, shut him out, hurt him. Every effort she’d made to push him away had made sense at the time, but now she couldn’t help but feel like there hadn’t been a point. If he still wasn’t willing to walk away from her after all her awful efforts, she couldn’t see the point of continuing to push him away. 

How had it gotten this bad? How was it two years later, and this was their first real interaction. And of course it wasn’t just any interaction, it was a cataclysmic event. Since that day he’d been broken on the battlefield, she had locked away any longing or loss. Whatever it had been between them, she had shut it down and shoved it away. Tried never to think of him again. And now? It felt like all of her safeguards had been shattered. She was feeling so muddled she wasn’t even sure she could remember  _ why _ she had pushed him away in the first place.

She sucked in her breath as the memory of him inside of her hit her again and sent her mind spinning. She was grateful he hadn’t yet released her from his arms - that he couldn’t yet see her face. But her heart rate picked up. Her insides roiled and there was a raging blackness in her mind that threatened to pull her under, and she considered letting it. She wondered if she could just close her eyes and sleep, make it all go away, and perhaps deal with it all another day. Or never. 

But he was putting her down now. Feet on the ground. And the dizziness and the desire to just black out passed. Instead, she found her stomach rumbling, and she looked to her middle in surprise as Cassian just laughed. It was a joyful laugh. One she hadn’t heard from him in a long time. She hesitated but the ghost of a smile played on her mouth. Then replying with as much bite as she could muster, “I guessing you don’t have food in this... frat house?” She did wonder if he lived here alone. He laughed again, the light sound of it ringing all around her. And then that glint in his eyes gave her several ideas of what sustenance he had in mind, what singular nourishment he might want to have, given the choice. But he let it go with a smirk and an offhanded, “I’m sure we can find something,” and together they stepped into the spacious apartment. 

It was simple. A kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and bathroom. But it was clean, and the high ceilings gave it an airy feel; she could imagine the morning sun streaming through the nearly floor to ceiling windows. She understood his desire to be on the top floor. The view and skies around him. She could scent him everywhere. The flying leathers shucked by the front door, the weapons, discarded against the wall by the kitchen. The couch where -  _ dear gods, was that romance novel on the coffee table? _ And the clean smell of him drifting from the sheets and comforter of the bedroom. But  _ only _ his scent. As if, she hadn’t been sure until that moment whether he would have been getting back at her, the way that she had chosen to get to him. A parade of “guests,” had been through her place, for whom she barely bothered to change the sheets or open the window to allow a crisp breeze in to disperse the scents of them and what they had been doing. 

No, she didn’t think that was Cassian’s style. She wondered if he had shared _ anyone’s  _ bed since they’d met - since the war. Mother, she hoped he had, considering how many she’d gone through. At the same time there was that part of her that felt enraged at the very thought of him touching another female. Or another female touching him. But she recalled herself and shrugged. 

“Nice place,” she commented. Not sure if she wanted it to be an insult or compliment. Not sure yet what she wanted at all. Cassian walked into the space, setting about lighting a few faelamps, then going to the kitchen and pulled open the lid of the cooling box. He set some bread, some cheeses, a stick of butter and some seasoning spices on the counter, as he pulled out a skillet and set about heating it up. At the end of his efforts, Nesta had a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich in front of her, and the aroma of it had her mouth watering. He just looked at her, those eyes smoldering, like he was thinking of what it would be like to snack on something else. She gave him a look that usually had the effect of a cold shower. His predator’s smile only widened. She ignored him and enjoyed the grilled cheese, until she was daintily licking her fingers and lips with the last crumbs and taste of it.  _ Had she eaten anything since yesterday?  _ She couldn’t remember. 

Still watching her, he reached out and slowly took the hand she’d just been using. His calluses scraped over the pad of her palm and the outsides of her hand as he pulled her fingers to his mouth, one by one, gently nibbling and then sucking on each where the sandwich and her mouth had just been. …And she just let him. Nesta’s mouth dried up and it made her feel both hot and hollow low in her abdomen. He didn’t drop his eyes from hers, but seemed to be waiting, testing, seeing what she’d do. 

She coughed and snatched back her fingers. So rare that  _ she _ was the one discomfited. So rare that she would be the one to back down, but she was no longer on steady ground. Looking into those hazel eyes, that face, no - she was not on steady ground at all… 

“What do you want?” she bit out. “Were you hoping to play house?” Her discomfort brought back some sting to the words. 

His eyes only seemed to laugh and he said, the smile stretching wickedly, “I want… sigh, where do I even begin?” He ended jokingly. And then, “Why… what do  _ you _ want, Nesta?” She hated the way he said her name. Like a caress. She averted her eyes and struggled again for composure.  _ This _ was why she’d ignored him she now realized.  _ This _ was why she had pushed him away. Because he could make her  _ feel _ . Make her hope. Make her want... And it was  _ dangerous _ to want. Dangerous to put your hope in people, lest people disappoint you. Dangerous to need, lest they not be there when you need them to be, especially when you need them most. Dangerous, lest  _ they _ be taken away. Oh, now, with his eyes only on her, boring into her heart and soul,  _ now _ she remembered why she had run away and put up walls between them.  _ Now _ she remembered what was on the line. 

And she shivered. Not from cold, but because she realized that she was finally in the game with stakes again. And she hadn’t been. Not for a long time. She had been hiding, playing it safe, always staying in control, barely tasting what  _ could be _ , and yet- she’d done it because it allowed her protection, safety. Not at risk of losing anymore. His eyes on her, she could feel he was a temptation that the survivor part of her wanted to resist, run away from, but it was something to which her body and more had already given itself over once and was hungry to again.  _ She was already all in _ , she realized,  _ and she hadn’t even looked at her hand. _

_ Shit.  _

_ Shit, shit, shit.  _ She could pull herself out of this chair and walk herself home, but already, he’d pulled her hand back to himself, and had pressed a kiss into its palm, then made slow circles there with his thumb. Her body was already humming, responding to the look he was giving her and the feel of his lips and thumb on her skin.  _ Gods damned, _ she wanted him. Instead she mustered a belittling look and just mocked, “So  _ grabby _ .” But she let him keep her hand. 

His black linen shirt still looked the worse for wear with a few frayed places and it was shredded a good six inches behind the right shoulder where it looked like he’d been clawed by some animal. She felt a hysterical giggle bubbling within her but she managed to master it. A snort still got away from her as she thought of precisely what kind of animal had in fact assaulted him. He looked at her, his smile widening, but it was a look full of laughter. A look promising joy and possibility. She felt the urge to back away from it. To scoff at it, scorn it. But he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he stood up and said, “I’m taking a shower,” and wrinkled his nose, which she pointedly ignored. “You coming?” And he gave her an exaggerated leer at the phrasing. She  _ almost _ laughed. Instead, her cheeks heated, but she surprised herself again by letting him lead her from the table. 

He peeled off his clothes with ease, but she hesitated as the heating water pounded behind the thin glass door. “Why do  _ you _ have a shower,” she shot at him, suddenly feeling vulnerable before the recollections of why  _ she _ used a shower, and  _ only _ a shower. 

“It’s faster than a bubble bath every day.” He smirked and it was as if he could see her picturing how comical his hulking form would be, wings and all -neck deep in scented, sudsy, fluffy bubbles. With a self deprecating laugh he added, “and I seem to get dirty quickly enough.” She shot him a look that conveyed something about animals and filth. But then, with a more reflective tone he offered one more thing, “and since the war, my back and wings hurt like hell most days, so it helps work out some of the tension in my muscles.” Turning to her he inquired too innocently. “You too?” 

_ Bastard.  _

She just smiled a frosty smile, but he didn’t seem phased. Instead he reached for her, pulling her to his now, completely naked body. Her heart hammered in her chest, but he felt calm, relaxed. Like this wasn't a battle, but a respite. A temporary truce. “C’mon,” he said. “Let me help you out of those.” And suddenly, not feeling self-conscious for the first time in a long time, she let him pull her dress over her head, unbind the wrappings around her middle and breasts, and pull out the last pins in her disheveled hair. She stepped into the roiling steam of the shower and let out a deep sigh as the hot water pounded over her body, leeching the tension from her. He stepped in behind her, and she could feel his bulk close to her as she closed her eyes and let the heat and water wash away conscious thought. 

She took deep breaths, savoring the steam, as it billowed into her mouth and nostrils, soothing and steadying her as she rested her hands and head against the cool porcelain tile of the shower wall. His hands came from behind her and lifted her soaking hair into one handful and draped it over the side of her neck. He began to gently massage her neck and shoulders, until she sank back against him, her body and mind feeling limp, as he worked out some of the tension deep within her knotted muscles. He finally stopped and his arms wrapped around her body, one arm around her abdomen, the other just below her breasts, pulling her back to his chest. He tucked his chin into the crook of her neck, simply holding her there. She didn’t know how long he held her like that, the water still pummeling down on their shoulders and pouring over their bodies, the strength and solidity of his body behind hers. Her eyes were closed and she just stayed like that, unmoving. Eventually, the water became lukewarm, and he finally reached over and turned off the faucets. He gave a deep sigh, and held her to him a little longer before the chill of the bathroom air began to encroach on their bubble of warmth. When they stepped out, he handed her a towel, and after she’d finished drying her face, her breasts, her legs, she felt him take his towel and gently wipe away the droplets and condensation from her shoulders and back. 

She turned to face him, still conflicted as to whether fight or flight would be the best course of action. But something of that frantic thing within her had calmed. The part of her that felt like an animal snared, flapping frantically and thrashing to get free. Like it was finally too tired, and had somehow decided it was satisfied to be where it was. Content to just be here  _ -with him _ . Even as she thought darkly how that likely boded ill for a snared creature.  _ Terrible instincts  _ her brain muttered. But, she sighed inwardly as he leaned in and pressed a kiss on that place where her neck sloped to meet her shoulder. He held it there, and again, they just stood unmoving for a time. Then, gently, his tongue slipped between his lips and touched her skin, slick and careful as he tasted her. And his tongue felt like it was burning her. Just like it had once before. She couldn’t help it. But instead of jumping back as she once had, a groan escaped her as she felt his tongue, hot, lithe and clever in that one stroke, reminding her of everything they had between them. She couldn’t help it when her mind wondered what else he could do with that tongue. Her breathing hitched and she leaned into him, as he brushed his fingertips down her arms, down past her elbows and began to trail down the sides of her waist, hips and outer thighs. The sensation was excruciating. A teasing, and... a match thrown to the tinder inside her. 

Her breathing did a funny thing again, and another sound escaped her. His mouth remained on her and she could feel his breath against her burning skin, exhaling clouds and then dragging his lips over her, pulling and teasing and tasting. And then he did what she had done earlier, though the violence of that initial encounter was absent. He wrapped his mouth and teeth on her, clamping over the place where her neck met shoulder and dragged his teeth along the skin, playful, but it unspooled a deeper ache within her core.  _ Oh gods, this male. _ She thought, becoming momentarily incoherent as his lips trailed the path again, down and back up, brushing along the delicate skin of her neck, once again tracing her throat to the place where it met her jaw. Tenderly he pressed a kiss there at that juncture, where he could feel her pulse racing beneath the surface. 

She pulled her throat away and angled her face to his. All nakedness forgotten, she scanned those hazel eyes, to see what was there in this moment. His eyes were fathomless. An endless plane beneath his steady gaze, like open skies or a boundless sea. She gazed back, not yet sure what this game was, or if she could figure out how to play -or how to win. As if he had heard the direction her mind had gone, he said softly, “Nesta, this isn’t a game. It’s never been a game with you.” And then, he shrugged and smiled in mock arrogance, “But if it were... you would probably lose... So, lucky for you,” he said, finishing with seriousness again, “it’s not a game.” But it was still there, that laughter in his eyes. She frowned. 

“I know how much you  _ hate _ to lose, so let’s just be glad,” He quipped again, his mischievous mouth barely a breath from hers, as she just stared into the face so close to hers, searching his for tells. 

She leveled her gaze at him and shot back, “Cocky bastard. From what I've heard, you’re  _ accustomed _ to losing.” She had no idea what she was saying, but words were coming out of her mouth. “You know I  _ don’t _ .” As much of her old bite as she could muster in the words, though not much. He just grinned that stupid grin at her. 

Still standing toe to toe, now in the cooling air of the bathroom, she felt herself beginning to grow self-conscious once more. She looked down: her breasts peaked against the cooling air between them, her hair was still hanging in cold wet strands and was starting to raise goosebumps on her skin,  _ his _ broad tattooed chest was a  _ little _ too close in front of her, and she realized, rapidly snapping her eyes up again, that of course he hadn’t bothered with towel or covering. 

His mind seemed to track her thoughts again as his lazy grin deepened and his eyes glinted in the dim light. “You can look,” he offered innocently, smile widening. She refused to blush. Her eyes narrowed at him, and then she rolled them and attempted to wave a hand in a dismissive gesture, reaching for her towel. But before she could turn, he had snagged her hips in his hands and pulled her close to him. And this time, with nothing between them she could feel the heat of his body radiating from every ripple of muscle against her now cooling skin.  _ He was a gods-damned furnace!  _ She thought.  _ A big, tan, beautifully muscled furnace.  _

She could feel his skin, hot against hers, still slick from the moisture, hard and silky all at the same time and realized she really wanted to touch it. She could also now feel one particular hardness poking into a place against her, but she ignored it and gave him a glare as she moved to pull away again. But he still held her hips firm, and instead he pressed his lips to hers, a gentle, but insistent kiss. Soft and sweet as he held her lips, slowly shaping small nibbling kisses onto hers. Gently, ever so gently, with soft kisses and breath, firm and yielding all at once, he carefully ran his tongue over her bottom lip. Something started to ache again deep in her core and she paused, realizing she was _so_ _very_ tired of fighting this, of driving him away, of not feeling anything at all. This small taste of a _feeling_ had her ravenous. Like she was starving again just as she’d felt all those years ago as a mortal. She opened her mouth a little wider to him, and the taste of him, as their tongues softly moved against one another, threatened to overwhelm her. She felt the hardness pressed against her suddenly twitch, and she couldn’t help her lips from curving into a crooked smile as they kissed. He felt her mouth widen and his did the same, until he slid his hands lower from their perch on her hips, suddenly scooping her buttocks in his hands and jerking her tighter against him. She groaned at the crushing contact. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting himself fully take in the scent of her. And when he stared back into her eyes, she would have thought he was intoxicated. 

And that was how they found themselves here. 

[cassian]

They were sprawled on the bed, his head between her legs, and she cried out when his tongue first touched that sensitive place above her opening. He used the flat of his tongue, relaxed and supple, and dragged it again up her center and back and forth in lazy circles over that sensitive bud. Her fingers gripped the sheets and he exhaled, letting his hot breath tease her as it evaporated from her folds in the cool air of the apartment.  _ Oh gods, the taste of her, _ he thought. To have her in his mouth, -his head was swimming, the feeling so heady to suck gently on that most sensitive, sacred part of her. 

She arched her back, moaning as he did it again. He paused, gently licking around the outside of her folds, not wanting to over-stimulate the nerves there all at once. This was a sight to see. She was practically sobbing with need. He’d never seen her this close to something so un-Nesta-like, something so kin to  _ begging _ . So  _ out-of-control _ . He used his lips, his tongue, teasing and coaxing bringing her to the very brink. And then one last gentle sucking with his lips at her apex and he could feel the sudden arching stillness of her body -that final sharp inhale and holding -and then the shudder that went through her whole body. Cauldron, he could watch her do  _ that _ forever. But even as it passed, she was writhing again, pressing her body into the sheets on the bed and twisting, rubbing her thighs together, moaning, as she savored the sensation, extending it, still heightened by it. But then he saw the expression on her face his heart stilled. Suddenly, with something akin to panic,  _ he _ felt like the doe. She roughly began pulling him up towards her, something blazing in her eyes. 

“Inside me. Right. Now.” She said it in such a low guttural voice, all demand, no asking.  _ Oh gods, he was instantly hard again _ . He lowered himself onto her carefully, her breasts crushing against him. He raised himself up, face to face with her, searching furiously, trying to read what was in it. 

She was still panting, her eyes a bit glazed, but the look in them said she was still hungry, still… not sated. His cock twitched again and hovered in the cleft between her legs; it grazed her slipperiness, and she convulsed. She pulled on his lower lip with her mouth, tilting her hips towards him, urging him to step over that line...again. He pushed forward and he could feel himself gently nudging at the wetness of her entrance. He adjusted again and made his tip slide up, rubbing over the bundle of nerves again, and Nesta inhaled sharply, shuddering, closing her eyes at the feel of it. He slid back down to the entrance and pushed a little further, just at the opening. The folds slid aside where he pushed and he nudged  _ just _ a tiny bit deeper inside. Not much, but just resting there with the tip encased.  _ Waiting in the entrance hall _ , he thought absurdly, and almost collapsed in hysterics as he thought how his brain must be in desperate need of oxygen. 

Nesta just held in her breath, her eyelids fluttering, but he just stayed there: barely moving, reveling in the feel of her, soaking in that moment of pre-entry that he had trampled past so hastily the first time. And then he moved his hips and slowly pushed into her. Torturously slow. Her body had gone perfectly still. In and in and in. All the way to the stopping point, where he was pressed fully against her on the outside, and he could feel as he pushed against her limit on the inside. 

His consciousness seemed to tilt off its axis and momentarily everything went dark. A moment later, as he came to, he realized he was silently and furiously spouting a steady stream of equal part prayer and curses. But everything in his head ceased as once again she started making those sighs that were it-hurts-and-I-can’t-breathe-but-gods-don’t-fucking-stop noises. And he could feel her constricting around him as he moved out and then further in. Squeezing him and relaxing, squeezing again. He smiled against her mouth and unthinkingly she returned it as she squeezed internally again. This time  _ he _ let out the gasping I-think-I-might-be-dying-but-please-just-let-me sound. Her smile deepend into a devilish grin.  _ Cauldron, gods, Mother above- he had never seen  _ that _ smile before. _ His eyes glazed a bit as he caught sight of the inferno raging in hers. Without warning, she jerked her hips and his eyes almost rolled back into his head as he let out a strangled noise. Now a feral grin on her face, she bucked again, driving him deeper into her. 

“That’s it!” he was muttering to himself as he raised himself up into a pushup position. And then he did make a similar motion, and it was her turn to let out another strangled cry. Her bent legs were splayed wide beneath him, but as he paused, she swung them up to rest flush against his chest, her calves resting on his shoulders. He ran a hand down the outside of her thighs, calluses softly scraping her velvet skin. Her point of entry was now lifted further towards him; he growled his approval and thrust hard, going deep as she clenched her teeth and made another gritted moaning sound.  _ The fucking feel of her. _ He pulled out and slammed in again.  _ Oh gods, oh gods _ ! He couldn’t stop repeating that over and over. His incoherent thoughts rambled. This was  _ Nesta- _ He couldn’t get over it.  _ She was glorious.  _ Even as he thought it though, he knew that he was in trouble. Deep shit trouble. He knew that this would be a breaking point. And he  _ prayed _ it wouldn’t be his. Maybe a breaking for old dances -old defenses? But, he knew he would never recover from  _ this _ . No matter how it ended, if she stayed or walked away, this had been his undoing.  _ He _ couldn’t walk away. Not now, not ever. Maybe there had never been a time when he could have. But all that mattered was that he was here now.  _ She _ was here.  _ With him _ . 

His body sang as it collided again with hers, pushing in, going harder and deeper with each thrust, again and again and again and again. 


	3. Dealing-Not-Dealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first non-smut chapter ;)  
> The morning after.  
> Nesta sorts through emotions. Cassian offers some insight.

[nesta]

They lay there, a hand span apart, chests heaving, dripping with sweat on top of the tangled sheets. Nesta’s hair was still damp from the shower, but some had started to dry and float away from her face. She peeked over at him through lowered lashes. His face looked utterly peaceful, not a shred of worry or even a thought written on it. They possibly needed  _ another _ shower. But eventually, as they lay there limp and sated, the cool air from the window tickled over them and goosebumps began to form on their skin from the evaporating sweat. 

The chill air felt good on her body as she lay there. It prickled her skin and caressed her breasts where her heart still hammered beneath. She had climaxed again with him inside her, as if he was somehow able to coax more from her body than anyone else could. She had felt alive, awake and reckless in a way that she had never managed with any of the Fae males she’d brought home from the bars.  _ Of course _ she could find release and climax with them, otherwise  _ what was the point _ \- but with them it was a controlled, low risk, for-gratification-only experience. She thought, a little sadly, something like masturbating, but with a male prop. 

It also made her more conscious of the fact that at least part of the reason she picked up males in the first place was the  _ power _ of it. She could arouse interest, make them want her; and she had the power to shoot them down, or take them home, make them beg, and then discard them. Whatever she wanted. It was an element of  _ control _ in the midst of a life where so many choices had been taken away. 

But with Cassian... it was different.

As she shifted, she was distracted from these philosophical musings by the soreness between her legs. Her opening tingled and throbbed. Her inside walls trembled. She sighed and then smirked to herself that this was the to-be-expected aftermath of sparring with a blunt object. Blunt force trauma, she almost snorted.  _ But oh gods,  _ she thought as the warmth and tingling redoubled -in a good way,  _ she would do it again in a heartbeat _ . 

And she  _ would, _ she realized. There was  _ most definitely _ going to be a next time. She wouldn’t let her brain go any further with that thought, but she knew she didn’t want this to come to an end. Whatever  _ this _ was. That deep longing welled up in her. The one she normally kept chained in the basement of her mind. She wanted to just keep doing this and doing this, and never stop. She also ignored the thought that whispered that “this” didn’t just refer to the sex. 

She could feel sleep coming for her. It was dragging her down like a gravitational pull. Heavy and strong, the weight settled over her, even as she fought to keep consciousness. She hadn’t been sleeping well for gods knew how long, and it seemed to finally have caught up to her. Without another lucid thought, she tumbled headlong into oblivion. 

She woke up hours later. The sheet had been pulled over them both and she could feel his warmth and presence curled against her back, the weight of his hand resting on her hip. Something in her settled as she listened to his slow even breaths. But before she could let herself think too much on it, she pushed off again and drifted back into the peaceful waters of sleep. 

It was early. Too early. She could tell it was early because the light behind the hills was just beginning to peek out, the sun itself not even visible yet. Ugh. She never got up this early. But even as she groaned inwardly and closed her eyes to go back to sleep, she felt his body shift. He shifted and stretched just a slight movement, his breathing changing, like he was ascending, swimming up out of the depths of sleep. Her breath hitched as the hand on her hip pressed into her, fingers spreading over the cool sheet draped over her flesh before curling slightly, pulling her whole hip towards him in a gesture of unconscious possessiveness.  _ Mine.  _ It seemed to say. 

And as he stirred to wakefulness she could feel his awareness solidify, as if he was slowly coming to the realization that there was in fact a body lying there in the bed beside him. Slowly realizing whose body it was. The hand gently ran lower, over the top of her thigh, then cautiously moving up to her hip bone and abdomen. Not with heat or desire, but moving slowly it traced her contours as though in wonder and awe and worship. 

Without consulting her brain, her body responded, arching into his hand like a cat. She could almost hear herself purring. And while one part of her scoffed and offered derisive insults for her shameless display, the other part ignored it, -just felt his touch, the warmth radiating from his hand, the feeling of contentment, the sensation of being seen and welcomed and wanted. 

She didn’t know how long they lay there. His soft caress through the sheet. So soothing and gentle. 

The soft semi-darkness of morning seemed to give her cover from confronting any of those thoughts or fears that her rational mind would have been insisting on: maintaining her defenses, looking for an exit strategy, protecting herself at all costs. In the cover of the shadows and in the haziness of just waking up, she was able to avoid thinking of all those things. 

Finally she turned over to face him, though her brain still felt sleep-addled and foggy in the creeping morning light. She studied his face, peaceful and softened in this moment before he steeled himself for the day. His lips curved into a slow smile, though his eyes were still closed. “Hello Nesta.” he said with still closed eyes. The way he murmured her name was soft and sleepy and sweet, not a trace of its usual taunt. Nesta said nothing but just watched him, fighting the urge to brush her fingers along his face. 

Her voice was still raspy from sleep, but before she could help herself she said softly, “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” 

_ Oh gods help her _ . She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that.  _ At least _ , she thought,  _ it hadn’t come out sounding barbed. _ Perhaps more bewildered, but still, she really hadn't meant to say those words out loud. It was so peaceful lying here beside him, she hadn’t intended to unpin a grenade in this moment. But, there was that voice inside her remarking coldly,  _ that was what she did, who she was _ . Nesta.  _ Always  _ ruining _ things _ . 

His eyes slowly opened, piercing her with that gaze of his. That gaze that saw, and weighed, and judged. Or so it felt to her. She wanted to curl into a ball and retreat from that gaze. Of course her hollow pride would never allow her to, but for a moment she felt  _ truly _ naked before him. 

“Why would I do that?” His eyes danced, but then turned solemn as he absorbed the turmoil in hers. 

“Because I’m-“ her voice seemed to give out. 

“You’re What?” He asked softly. “A mess? Bitter?  _ A bitch _ ?” He smirked at the last label, but then sighed. “You know, we  _ all _ have been. At one time or another. You’re  _ allowed _ , you know. To be all those things. It’s ok to  _ not-deal  _ sometimes.”

She bit back some snide remark about how glad she was that he  _ allowed _ it. But she knew he didn’t mean it like that. And she wondered when or if or how  _ he’d _ ever  _ not-dealt.  _

He smiled, but looked a little sad. “Nesta, I’ve had more than five centuries to figure out how to live with the violence, the fury, the losses. And early on I was lucky enough to have found two allies and friends who acted as anchors for me when I was adrift and… not-dealing. 

“But,” he continued, “I wasn’t ripped from my own body, my own world and shoved into a new one full of violence and fear and death. I can’t begin to imagine how that would feel.” 

He was quiet for a long time and turned his gaze to stare up at the ceiling. “You know about my mother?” He asked. “My... upbringing?” He let the word and all of its implications hang in the air. Whatever  _ upbringing _ it is that rips a just-weaned child from his mother and drops him in the snow with  _ nothing _ , just to see if he’ll survive. 

“I don’t have many memories of her. Just feelings, vague glimpses really. They took me from her when I was barely…” his voice trailed off. 

“And then later, when I’d found out what they’d done to her…” He didn’t finish that sentence either. 

“I didn’t go through what you did, but I do know something of what it’s like. What it does to you. That rage and emptiness. It’s almost a contradiction that they can coexist at once. And for a long time it felt like there wasn’t _anything else_. Just rage and... nothing. Feeding off of one another. And just when I’d felt enough of nothing, just enough to stare into that black abyss of despair, rage would pull me back and make me feel something again. And it felt _powerful_ and _strong_ and _safe_. Like nothing could touch me. Nothing would hurt me.

“...But I didn’t have anything else. And when the rage would eventually gutter out, it would again leave me with nothing. Only the destruction it had left in its wake. Which only ever led me back to rage.” He smiled a sad wry smile. 

“But like I said, I was lucky.” He said, his tone changing slightly, lightening just a little. “I’d fallen in with a group who had each been through their own hell.” He was still staring at the ceiling, but looking as though he was seeing something else. 

“We’d all had… trauma. And I learned that that is what it is. For some it’s a single event, something awful that turns their life upside down. For others it’s slow-growing, like a sickness, because of a toxic family or childhood circumstances beyond their control. I’m guessing everyone experiences some kind of trauma at some point in their life. The degree may vary. And some are better at dealing with it than others. But it has the same effect. It makes you feel powerless. Makes you question all of your decisions  _ and _ your self-worth. Makes you terrified of ever experiencing that kind of pain again, makes you  _ desperate _ to avoid it, and it makes you  _ grieve _ for everything that you lost, and the person you  _ could _ have been, if fate had unfolded differently.” 

He turned towards her again, and they just stayed like that in silence. Him staring into her eyes, and her staring back into his. 

Finally, she asked the other question that had been quietly scratching at her, though it horrified her to say it out loud.  _ It wasn’t like he didn’t know _ …  _ but _ . “It doesn’t bother you-“ she stumbled, not sure if there was any way to soften it. Feeling both ashamed, but also angry that she would be embarrassed by it. Why should she feel shame over it -it was her life after all. “The males?” She finished, colder than she intended. 

His lips twitched, but there was a flash of something like sadness in his eyes. But he simply said, “No, Nesta. It doesn’t bother me. I mean yes-“ he amended. “It makes me want to set off on a murderous rampage. But no. I get it. We all have our ways of sorting things out. If that’s what you needed… I get it.” 

After a moment she asked cooly, “And did you ever leave a trail of female conquests in your wake?” He just smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Something inside her seemed to growl at the thought. Instead he offered, “I’ve done a lot of things in the past that… Well, I wouldn’t do now.” And he looked at her so intently that she had to fight the urge to lower her eyes. 

“You know I’ll never be…”

“-Like Elaine?” He finished for her. And then burst out laughing. When he kept laughing, she started smacking him repeatedly, but his hilarity persisted, and before she knew it, she too was shaking with hysterical laughter.  _ Oh gods. No. She would never be like Elaine. Bless her pure and unadulterated heart. My sweet Elaine who doesn’t have an ounce of darkness in her. No. But maybe,  _ she thought to herself, _ Maybe Cassian knew something of darkness too.  _ It was a small thing, but somehow it made her feel less alone. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments! Please keep your thoughts coming, I’m always open to hearing how I could improve. Again, thank you.


	4. Snooping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta can’t help herself from looking through Cassian’s stuff. More banter. Nesta find herself relaxing.

[nesta]

Nesta couldn’t quite figure out what she was still doing at his apartment. She should already be gone, that voice inside hissed. A safe distance. She and Cassian had stayed in bed most of the morning. But eventually he had said he had to go check in with Rhys and deal with a few “important” military matters. His pretended puffery as he said it had had her snorting. But then he had asked her if she would stay, at least until he got home again that evening, and she’d agreed. She wasn’t sure why. 

But… it at least gave her the afternoon to explore the apartment and snoop through his things. She wasn’t sure where she got it, she reflected, that utter lack of respect for other people‘s privacy.  _ She _ of course, would have been enraged if anyone dared to step over  _ her _ boundaries. But somehow she had never developed qualms about going through  _ other people's  _ personal things. It was a bit funny, she thought. 

So, she’d been through his desk. She’s been a little disappointed that it hadn’t even been locked. But there really wasn’t anything interesting in there anyway. She had sorted through his closet. Putting everything back neatly, but looking to see if he kept anything tucked away in a pair of socks or hidden behind sweaters. She smiled. She really was shameless about some things. And it really  _ was _ a terrible habit. But this was  _ Cassian _ . She just couldn’t help it. It felt like those times as a child, before their family's fortunes had soured, when she would set off in a delighted frenzy searching the house high and low for the little presents her parents had bought and hidden in the weeks before her birthday finally arrived. She wanted to find his treasures. Like… she wanted to discover all his little secrets, as if somehow they would be a kind of gift to her. She didn’t let herself dwell on that thought. 

But, she didn’t find anything of interest in his closets either, unless you counted the drawer of hideously patterned silk shirts, one pair of bright red satin boxer shorts, and a pair of furry handcuffs. She noted that for another time.

She had then gone through his bookshelf. Examining the spines that seemed well loved. Flipping through the pages and the stories. He had a number of titles she’d never heard of, but a wide range of genres, and a number of ones that she had read. She  _ did in fact _ find a few romance novels.  _ And _ discovered some of the most delicious scenes when she held the books just so, and let the bindings open to the places where they had been read and read and reread. She smiled at one particularly dirty scene. 

She was curled up on the couch that evening with a book, in the middle of one of those delicious scenes, when he finally came in. Dropping a long sword and some papers on the entrance hall table, he suddenly paused mid-step, giving her a funny look as his eyes darted around the apartment. She just blinked at him innocently in an owl-like fashion.

“Huh.” Was all he said, his lips twitching. 

They didn’t talk much as she put down the book and came into the kitchen area, while he moved around, pulling out ingredients and again prepared them dinner.

After eating, he pulled her onto the couch beside him, their bodies touching in a thousand places. She let him wrap his arms around her frame, and let herself relax into him.

“So, did you find my porn collection?”

“Yes,” she said, completely dead pan -though she’d found nothing of the sort, unless you counted the fabulously smutty books. “I had no idea there were  _ multiple _ publications for people with goat fetishes.” He snorted. “Something catch your eye, sweetheart?” She elbowed him in the ribs as he chuckled in her ear. 

“Something you said this morning has been bothering me.” She said with false sweetness. “You said that perhaps the males were something I  _ needed _ . As if they’re past tense. What makes you think I’m not going to keep bringing them home?” 

“Well, I guess you can try…. If you think you can go back to them after -this…” and he made a sweeping motion to encompass all of himself. It was her turn to snort.

“You’re so full of shit.” She retorted. “Aaah,” he said. “That’s why we’re so well-suited.”

She smacked him again, but did pause to wonder if he thought that they were in fact well-suited. And what kind of fucked-up-ness he would have to have to be well-suited for her.

She kept telling herself that she should go home. Go back to her place. Not let herself get in too deep. But she was more tired than she had realized. Or perhaps, the thought niggled at her, perhaps for the first time in a long time she felt safe enough to sleep through the night. Like her mental sentries were finally allowed a break. 

They fell asleep that night curled against each other, his arms wrapped tightly around her. They hadn’t kissed or done anything else. Just stayed there, bodies touching. Sleep eventually found her, and she slept all the way through till morning. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love any feedback- always learning what I could do better. Thank you all for the kudos and love! Truly.


	5. Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut.  
> Then Nesta gets scared and goes home.   
> Emotions are hard. :)

[nesta]

She woke up to the feel of him inside of her. Somewhere in the predawn dark they had found each other. Her back tightly pressed against his chest, their first sleepy caresses had simply been unconscious, automatic. Reaching for each other, questing for reassurance that the other was still there. And then, something else had stirred. That slumbering beast within her had rumbled as his fingers flattened and then curled, tracing down the contours of her side, briefly grasping her hip and teasing down her stomach, brushing the place between her thighs. She’d ground into him then, a muffled moan escaping her, even as she was not yet fully emerged from the blanket of sleep. It was like the most exquisite dream materializing into existence as her brain began to make sense of where she was and who was holding her. 

Her mind was drifting in and out of sleep, even as her body arched and opened under his ministrations. A combination of her natural state of morning-arousal along with his touches had left her center soaked and slippery, and without any clothing between them, he had easily slipped into her entrance, and was now ever-so-slowly moving in and out of her. That slumbering lust within was stretching out its talons, snarling with awakened hunger.  _ Oh gods and Mother  _ she breathed,  _ it felt _ so  _ good _ . 

His hands were still exploring her breasts and hips and front, as he pressed into her from behind. His mouth dragged up her shoulder and neck, his teeth gently grazing over the places he’d been kissing, slowly growing more and more ravenous as they went. 

Her blood was pounding in her ears, and she felt like everything was happening as though underwater, in slow motion… with delicious attention to every detail. She could feel his breath tickling her skin as it picked up speed and grew more uneven. She could feel the calluses on his hands gently scraping along her body as they roamed her stomach and breasts, a sensation that had her arching, as it drew goosebumps across her skin. She could feel the peaks of his hip bones wrapped beneath hard muscle, as they softly dug into her buttocks when he moved. So many little feelings of him. 

Her body had begun writhing, pressing and pushing herself into him as she sought to feel more of the friction and firmness of his body. Her mind was blissfully blank, totally and completely absorbed in the burning feel of body against body. It was as if her rational brain had not yet woken, and the primal animal in her had free reign in its absence. Her hands reached back to grip his hips as they rocked to and fro. 

“Oh gods, Nesta,” he was softly gasping into her ear, something in his voice of a drowning man at sea. “I need you, Nesta. Gods I need you,” his voice thick, either from emotion or just waking, she couldn’t tell. Her heart did something funny at the sound. 

His arms wrapped around her, his fingers dipped between her legs again, sliding between the wetness he encountered. His fingers began to play there, coaxing moans from her as he rolled them over her apex in sync with the pumping pressure within. 

_ This wasn’t going to take long _ , the stray thought flitted across her mind amidst the rising tide of her pleasure. Then,  _ if only this feeling could last forever. Gods, I never want this to end.  _

Without that self-consciousness or vigilance that her waking brain usually wielded, she felt submerged within her own body, awake to every sensation, no judgement or worry. Simply  _ aware _ of every nerve that was buzzing, every swell of pleasure.  _ She could feel it all _ . The build within her was becoming urgent and demanding. A pyramid stacked too high, ready to topple.  _ More more more _ , his body seemed to beg, and hers was answering back,  _ more more more _ . 

Her climax rose up to a crescendo, hovering at its peak for a moment before slamming into her like a tidal wave. It rumbled through her deep and low. The euphoria crashed over her, and she was pulled under, tumbling over and over until she finally drifted to the surface, body limp and gasping for air. And Cassian, feeling her being washed away between his fingers, let go of his moorings and dove in after her. 

  
  


For a while they just lazed in the feeling of it, weightless and at rest. She didn’t know what hour it was; time seemed like a trivial thing. But eventually, as the throbbing subsided and the mindlessness that had captained her body was replaced by conscious thought, the worries and the fears began to creep back in. 

_ What was she doing here? What did she think was going to happen? Some fucking happily ever after?  _ She was fully awake now, and it was clear that the vigilant part of her brain had returned in force, and had apparently brought reinforcements. 

And she realized she was terrified. The panic began pouring in, like water through a sluice. She was afraid of what he made her feel, afraid of the recklessness she felt when she was with him. She was afraid that he might not want her after all, when the depth of her selfishness and cruelty and pettiness was revealed. He was kind and caring and  _ honest _ . All the things she wasn’t. Wasn’t sure she ever could be. 

But, she realized with a wry twisting, her body was  _ begging _ her not to go. He hadn’t been wrong that going back to other males would be like… going back to those empty-belly days of winter, after she had finally eaten a full meal and been warmed by the heat of a blazing fire. She even felt somewhat repulsed by the idea. 

As these thoughts tumbled and gained momentum, she could feel her body tensing, growing more and more rigid, as they lay curled in the sheets. 

Their bodies were facing one another now, still entwined in places as they slowly cooled and recovered from their recent ...dramatic good morning. She had her head buried in his chest, and she didn’t dare raise it, not wanting to see his face, let alone allow him to see hers. 

“Mmmph,” he sounded, and it drew her momentarily from her grim musings. “I can feel you getting farther away by the minute.” He said it lightly, but there was a question in it, and a little worry. 

“As far as I can tell, it’s none of your business.” She snapped, a chill creeping into her voice. And then, she paused before going on in a harder tone, “It feels like you read my mind a bit too often. Can any Fae do it, or is it just you enjoying the invasion of my privacy for your own amusement?” He pulled away from her, just enough so that his whole face was in view as she glanced up. 

His eyebrows rose. “Invading privacy is it?” She could hear the taunt. She flushed at what he was implying. At her bad habits.

She felt the anger bubbling within her and it seemed to step up, like it was angling for a fight. And, she also knew  _ she was doing this on purpose. _ Picking a fight, choosing to pick up daggers, rather than stay to see what would happen with him. She was a coward. 

She had her suspicions as to why he might be more attuned to her, and she wasn’t yet sure how she felt about it. Not when so many other choices had already been taken from her; she wasn’t ready for one more thing to be forced upon her. Also, for a myriad of other reasons. But she knew this would back him into a corner. Make him hold a line. 

“I’m serious,” she said. “Why do you always know. Guess. What I’m thinking or feeling. I never invited you-“ she cut off, “Stop doing it.” She ended coldly. 

He just watched her. 

Her anger flared again, that rage lifting its serpentine head into something nasty, needing to strike out. 

“What Cassian, do you peer into my mind, watching me in bed with other males, like a pervert? Does that get you off?” 

Something ugly flashed in his eyes, but he kept his silence. 

She sat up, feeling both nauseous and empowered, as the anger gave her back something like familiar footing. “I need to go-” she started. 

“I can’t.” He said abruptly, the words stopping her in her movements as she swung away from him off the bed. “You know I can’t.” His voice was low and rough. “I can't stay away -and you know why, Nesta.” His hazel eyes were piercing. 

“Stop saying my name!” she screamed, something hysterical edging her voice.

Instead, he smiled that smile that made the rage skyrocket inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to smash that look off his face. 

“C’mon, Nesta.” He taunted, his gaze still drilling into her, like he could see all the way to her barricaded heart. 

And then, as if suddenly thinking better of his tone, he took a breath and finished more hoarsely, “What do you want me to say? That we’re connected -you, and me? You already know the answer.”

“I don’t care.” Her voice so cold, it hurt even her ears. “Perhaps  _ you _ don’t have a choice, you deviant bastard, but I do. Fuck off. And don’t come looking for me again. I don’t need you to try to save me.” 

She saw pain and fury flash in his eyes, but there was also something wild and frantic there. After a moment though, he shrugged, that look winking out with it. 

“Fine,” he said. Something tired in his tone. “Run away, Nesta.” He looked like he would say more, but he just closed his mouth, jaw clenching. 

  
Numbly she stumbled around the room, collecting her clothes, dressing quickly, and she let the door slam behind her as she left the apartment. She leaned against the hallway wall once outside his door, doubling over and unable to breathe. There was a stabbing pain in her chest, and she clutched her arms around herself as if she were trying to keep her insides from falling out. No thoughts would form, except the pounding refrain  _ I need to go, I need to go.  _ So she forced her feet to move, pulled herself upright and made her way through the city towards the river. 


	6. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta makes poor choices. Shocker.  
> Discovers something new.

[nesta]

Her mind stayed blank all the way back to her apartment, just echoing in silence, like it was a cavernous empty room. Hollow. She thought she might be sick. When she finally made her way back, she stripped down to her undergarments and crawled into her bed shivering. She lay there, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, unable to breathe, those hazel eyes flashing before her every time she closed hers. When the late afternoon sun began peeking in through the shabby curtains, she finally threw back the covers and got herself dressed again. She glanced in the mirror, and thought,  _ Mother I look awful _ , before heading out the door. She needed a drink. Or ten. 

In her mortal life, she had never understood the motivation of drunks. Though she’d seen enough of them in her village- people whose lives were consumed by drink, she’d never been able to comprehend what drove them to let their lives crumble around them, or drive away family…  _ but now,  _ she thought.  _ Now _ she had an inkling of what it was. It wasn’t the drink itself, but wanting the  _ oblivion _ that it led to. To drown the anger, the fear, the longing, the hurt, just to slip away and escape it all. To feel nothing for a time. Or, she thought with a grimace, when it was the nothing you were escaping, it let you feel like there was something. A sad imitation perhaps, but  _ something _ nonetheless. 

Six drinks later the emptiness had receded some, but still as she sat there, scene after scene kept replaying in her head. One after the other they paraded before her mind’s eye: the exchanged looks, the moments relaxed beside him, their joking, the feel of his skin, the expression on his face when he was inside her, when he was teasing her, when he was kissing her, and... when she flung her bladed words at him. These thoughts assaulted her, one after the other. 

Looking around the bar, her eye caught on a male, who was sitting in the tavern's corner with a friend, watching her. He gave her a suggestive smile and she raised her eyebrow at him, considering. Even as her insides roiled, she returned a coy smile and glanced towards the door. Closing out her tab, she made her way outside. Before long, the male was walking by her side, extending an arm in mock gentility. She took it, and smiled, their little charade of romantic propriety. 

It wasn’t even dark yet, but the aching in her chest wouldn’t stop, and the wine had not done enough to numb it. She opened another bottle once they were inside her place, and she tipped back a generous pouring. She kept on the mask of amused charm, but they both knew they were only there for one thing. She let him take her in his arms, and his mouth began making its way down her neck, his hands moving over her curves with enthusiasm. The pain in her chest increased, so she began to vigorously kiss his neck in return, her mind seeking to stamp out that ache and slam down the barriers inside.  _ Just make it all go away. _ Her mind kept chanting.  _ Make it go away. _

They were soon undressed and on the bed, her body still not responsive so that she had to wet her fingers in her mouth and rub it over her entrance to make herself ready. The male didn’t seem to care one way or another.  _ Fucking piece of shit _ , she thought irrationally, since she was the one who had initiated this in the first place. Her limbs felt odd and mechanical. She kept hoping for her usual arousal to awaken, which would at least allow her to slip mindlessly into her own pleasure and escape. Swinging herself over him she pressed herself down onto him, sliding down until he was fully inside of her. 

The sensation of being kicked in the gut reverberated through her body, and she felt like she was going to vomit. Her hand clamped over her mouth, and she sat there, completely still for a moment before her shoulders began shaking. A sob racked her, and she tilted sideways off of him, curling into a fetal position on the mattress. Tears were streaming from her eyes as she squeezed them shut, her whole body shuddering as her mouth formed soundless sobs.  _ Make it stop _ ,  _ make it stop  _ she cried over and over. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt like a giant fist had closed around it, slowly crushing her.  _ It hurt so badly _ , this abyss inside of her.  _ When would it ever stop hurting _ . She just wanted it to stop. 

She didn’t know how long she’d lain there crying. But she finally exhausted herself. She hadn’t noticed when the male had left, and certainly hadn’t cared. She felt like a shell; like perhaps there had once been something living inside her, but it was long since decayed and disappeared. She’d run out of tears by then, and so she just stared at a place on the wall where a browned water-stain intersected with a thin jagged crack. The light from outside the window was waning, but she didn’t have the energy to move. To do anything. She wondered if she could just fold in on herself, like a piece of paper, folded smaller and smaller until she was small enough to disappear. Disappear and not feel anymore. 

And then she felt it. Like a hand laid gently on her back. Reassuring. Sad, but conveying a depth of something else too. It lasted just a moment, and then it was gone. 

She blinked. That had never happened before. She had known… had guessed, at what it was between them because of the depth of feeling, the intensity blazing between them, the way she’d known where he was before the cauldron struck and had screamed his name… the moments she thought had been their last before Hybern. 

But, she’d never  _ felt _ him before. 

Perhaps she’d known, but after the war and after everything, she’d decided  _ she didn’t want to know _ . Didn’t want to have that, and couldn’t handle the thought of losing it. She was afraid she was so  _ broken _ that he might not actually want her. And, she’d decided, she couldn’t imagine having and didn’t want that sick puppy love that Fehyre and Rhys had, especially when she felt like smashing and destroying  _ everything in this world. She wasn’t a fucking sap _ . 

So, she’d convinced herself that a mating bond would be one more choice being taken from her, and instead she would take a different route, making her own choices and choosing her own life, no matter how  _ shitty _ she chose. She had then proceeded to lock down that part of herself, barricading it under layers and layers of thick stone wall and shutting him so firmly from her mind that she wondered some days if she’d imagined that there’d been anything there at all. 

But the last few days seemed to have left those defenses in shambles. Completely obliterated those thick walls. Because she had never  _ felt _ him before. Not like that. 

It had been him, without a doubt. It had just felt so  _ Cassian _ . Like feeling his big muscly body curled behind her when she slept, or when he’d held her in the shower. Solid. Something to lean into for warmth and steadiness. 

She’d been a coward, she thought, to not even look before, to shut him out so completely.  _ Gods help her _ . 

But then, just as she'd begun to make a tentative peace with the idea of what might be between them, the horror struck her of what she had just done. She’d brought home another male, after the time they’d just spent together,  _ and he most likely knew. _ She was sure he hadn’t pried, he had too much integrity to snoop.  _ Not the way that she would have _ , that nasty inner voice provided. But she was sure that he knew what she had just been doing. Her way of  _ handling things _ . Her  _ dealing-not-dealing _ .  _ Gods _ , she didn’t want to think about how much he knew or saw or felt, because the thought was making her feel sick again. 

She’d already thought little of herself before, but this last act truly disgusted her. Did he think she’d done it on purpose? To make him feel it? And then she wondered if on some level perhaps she  _ had _ . Tried to really drive him away for good. With one final cruel blow. 

Her mind spiralled down a long list of curses that repeated themselves in alternating order. Would she never cease fucking things up? 

Finally steeling her courage she peered inwards. But all was quiet, no sense of a bond or a presence that wasn't the hollowness of her. Maybe she was wrong?  _ Maybe _ , that inner voice quipped,  _ you’re delusional. Maybe you aren’t anything to him _ .  _ And if you are... isn’t that the Cauldron’s sense of humor to give _ someone like you  _ to him as his mate. Poor bastard indeed _ . 

She cringed, but stayed there, settling into the silence of herself and waited. Minutes dripped by, but still nothing.  _ Waiting had never been her strong suit _ she thought. Without realizing what she was doing, she began pacing around the internal room, though it felt somewhat more like a large underground cavern, pitch black and quiet. She couldn't see anything, so she stretched out imagined hands in front of her and began feeling around, for what she wasn’t sure. Before long her fingers fumbled upon what felt like a handful of threads. They were loose in her hands, but also silky and smooth. She feathered them between her fingers, but the threads didn't seem to connect to anything. Reaching out again, she touched something and she ran her hand along a vertical row of evenly spaced threads, though all wider in diameter than the threads in her other hand. These threads were like the cross strings of a loom, stretched up towards the ceiling- assuming that there was a ceiling. Without realizing what she was doing, she ran her fingers down one of the cords, gently closing around it, and tugged. 

And there he was. She could feel him. There, somewhere on the other end,  _ he was there _ connected by the bare bones of a tapestry between them. But without a doubt,  _ a bond _ . It wasn’t something solid or finished, but stood like the skeleton of a house, where you can see what it will look like before the walls or exterior go on; she could see what  _ could be _ . And her heart ached at the thought. Of him. Of him belonging to her. She could feel the hot tears flooding her eyes again. 

********************


	7. Shitfaced

[cassian]

Cassian didn’t usually get shitfaced. But today wasn’t usually. She’d walked out and he’d been so angry and terrified he’d never see her again he’d punched a hole in the bedroom wall. He shouldn’t have done that. But for a moment he’d been so out of his mind - it had felt like what had taken over him after he’d learned about his mother. When he’d totally lost his shit. The grief and despair threatening to overwhelm all rational thought. 

He’d always had a short fuse and a hot burning temper. Always ready for a brawl. Hells, it was the only reason he’d survived where he came from. And over the years it had been a way-  _ his way _ of  _ dealing-not-dealing _ , he thought sardonically. But over the years, he’d also had some room to heal, grow up. The responsibility he’d shouldered in becoming Rhys’ general and the dreams that he had for changing Illyrian culture, having solid friends who loved him, had all given him a center of gravity that allowed him to brush off insults and reign in his anger. He’d learned that you can actually make it to the endgame if you don’t let the rage drag you off course. Rhys had taught him a lot of that.  _ Play to the goal _ , he’d said,  _ not to the moment. It’s a game of chess, Cass, not a fight to the death _ . Fucking chess. 

He loved a good strategy game, but… sometimes though, sometimes he just wanted to break things. And, oh Cauldron, how  _ Nesta _ made him want to break things. He was pretty sure  _ she _ delighted in it.  _ Well _ , he thought,  _ to be fair they both seemed to revel in inciting the other _ .  _ And then the clash of battle _ . He grinned in spite of himself. His grin widened as he recollected the  _ violence _ of their desk encounter. Maybe their tempers were what matched them up in the first place. He threw back another shot. Yep, he thought. He was going to get shitfaced.   
  


He’d given her space after she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. And after what they’d just been through in the war, Hybern, his wings, and that last moment with her-  _ letting her go was like ripping out his still beating heart _ . But, if that's what she needed, then that’s what she needed.  _ He’d _ been given plenty of time in his life to work through his shit.  _ And _ , he’d done a ton of stupid, awful fucking shit along the way, so, if this was what she wanted to do, fine. He could handle it. He’d do what he could for her. And he’d be around if she changed her mind. But it didn’t stop it from feeling like a slow death when he felt this strongly, wanted her this much, had this… connection that was a part of him.  _ Gods _ , he thought,  _ I should take Lucien out for a drink sometime. _

But then  _ this _ had happened. Whatever  _ this _ was- the past few days, where he’d felt her through the bond -it was what drew him to Rhys’ study in the first place. Then he’d had her body in his hands, relaxed with her,  _ laughed _ with her (if his memory could be believed!) -and he wasn’t sure he could go back to having that chasm between them. Pretending he didn’t exist. He seriously questioned if his heart could take it. He drained another shot. 

He probably should have invited Azriel or Rhys, so someone could at least drag his ass home tonight. And, because they probably would be understanding. But he didn’t really want comfort right now. He just wanted to sit with this fucking hole in his heart and get shitfaced.

A few hours later, and to no one’s surprise, he was in fact, absolutely shitfaced. The sun was already starting to sink in the sky and he had laid his head down on his arms over the bar. Whatever had happened between them these last few days seemed to have worn down the walls she’d usually kept erected between them. Often he had been grateful for those walls and what they shut out... when she’d kept company. 

He hoped she knew that he’d meant what he said about the other males. He really didn’t care that sex was her drug of choice for coping. Hells, he wouldn’t have judged her if she were at the height of her glory, healthy and happy, and still choosing to take random males to bed. That was her gods given right.  _ Lords knew he had. _ Females -he amended fuzzily to his rambling monologue. But, it did make his heart ache. And feel crazy jealous. But it was because  _ he _ wanted her. He wanted  _ her _ to want  _ him _ . And he didn’t want to know when she didn’t. 

  
  


But now, with the bond clearer between them, even through his drunkenness he could  _ feel her _ across town. She apparently had eventually had the same alcohol-related idea he did, and was now working her way towards oblivion. He pushed down the awareness of her and tried to think of other things. He should probably try to fortify  _ his _ defenses at some point. 

Rhys must have figured out where he was, but when he showed up he took one look at Cassian, whistled and sat down beside him pouring himself a shot from the bottle that Cassian had been efficiently reducing. 

“Something chafing you, Cass? You look a bit worse for wear.” His friend inquired, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

Cassian just looked at him, narrowing his eyes, though they seemed to take a moment to focus. 

“Fuck off Rhys.” 

Rhys just grinned at him, amusement crinkling his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he crooned.

Cassian growled and Rhys laughed out loud. 

Pouring another shot Cassian retorted, “And you wonder why I didn’t invite you along on this booze-cruise? You’re _entirely_ _too chipper_. Take your fancy fancy pants and go back to your happily-ever-after mated life.” 

“Right,” Rhys said, looking down at his drink and smirking. “‘Cuz I had it  _ so _ easy. You  _ do _ remember that she was in love with another male…, right?” He smiled serenely at Cassian, “...And that she hated my guts?” Another pause, “...And that  _ we both died _ ?” Cassian threw him a glare that implied he’d  _ still _ had it easier and Rhys chortled. 

Cassian sighed, “Maybe you could alter my memory so it doesn’t hurt  _ so fucking bad, all the time. _ ” Rhys just shook his head and smiled. “No, but-” His smile faltered as he saw Cassian’s face go blank. 

“What is it?” 

But Cassian didn’t answer. 

Because Cassian could see her  _ -and oh gods he wished he couldn’t. _ She was walking down the street in the late afternoon light, a male by her side and a fake smile plastered on her face. 

“Oh no, Rhys. I can’t do this...” Something like desperation in his voice. Rhys looked genuinely alarmed as Cassian swayed off the stool, unsteady on his feet, taking a step towards the door. “Shit, I need to- fuck, what do I-  _ oh gods Rhys- _ ” he said squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his palms against his closed eyes. 

_ Surely she wouldn’t… _ he thought. Surely she would know what that would feel like to him. After they had finally been together after all this time? He really hadn’t thought it all the way through of what she might decide to do next. And not judging was one thing, but he realized he’d been clinging to some naive hope that things would be different now. That they  _ couldn’t _ go back to what had been before. It appeared he was wrong. It appeared he’d underestimated Nesta. 

He scrambled furiously to throw up walls between them, against the bond. But he hadn’t ever really built any barriers _against her_. Hers had always been near impenetrable and all this time he’d been _trying_ _to bring hers down_ after all. But with her defenses in shreds…

He could feel her, such a jumble of emotions, pain, anger, emptiness, practically screaming for something to make it all go away. 

_ No, no, no, no,  _ his brain repeated. Time seemed to stop and then speed up. 

And then he felt that moment of her joining like a shockwave. 

Cassian clutched his stomach like he’d been punched in the gut. 

He  _ knew _ , -he _ knew rationally _ that this was her way of dealing, but it didn’t stop it from feeling like someone had physically kicked him. 

He felt completely blindsided. Unmoored. Disoriented. He’d been able to understand it before- her way of coping; but after the time they’d  _ just _ spent together-  _ gods was it really only this morning _ ? When it had been  _ his _ body joined with hers? To treat it so cheaply. Like it meant nothing. Like  _ he _ meant nothing. He wanted to curl up in a ball. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, doubled over, the world tilting in and out of focus. Rhys’ hand clasping his shoulder, reassuring and steady. His oldest friendship. But Cassian just wanted to disappear or cease to exist, -anything, if it would just make this wracking pain in him go away. 

And then... he felt her crumbling. Like shattering glass, he could feel her slowly breaking apart and crashing to the floor. That  _ she _ wanted to fold in on herself and disappear.  _ She _ wanted it all to go away. The pain, the longing, the loneliness, the rage. He could feel all of it, and the wall between them was so thin now that he reached out his hand and gently laid it against the paperlike barrier. A friend offering comfort. A presence to lean on. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. 

He came back to himself, there in the dim bar, with Rhys standing beside him. He took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to do next. Usually, either confident and sure of himself or acting brashly, he was always moving forward. Always doing, always to the goal. Now? He was at a dead stop. Like the world had come to a standstill. He wasn’t sure what came next. He sat down again, Rhys settling on the stool beside him. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there, letting the silence stretch out before them. It was the silence of old friends, the kind that didn’t need words. Cassian was grateful. 

His thoughts were scattered and jumbled. There was no clear path forward. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. An impossible situation. 

But then, so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it, he felt... a _tug_. Inside. Like someone pulling on a string attached to his gut. It was disconcerting. Totally new; but as he peered inward _he_ _could feel her_. Feel her reaching _for him_. Whatever barrier remaining between them dropped away, and he could feel that bridge between them solidifying, more clear and tangible than before. Something rippled through him. Like awe or joy. He wasn’t sure if it belonged to her or him. 

Rhys helped him home and into bed before heading out, but the whole while it was as if Cassian and Nesta were standing there in the same room, utterly unmoving, that look blazing between them, eyes never leaving the other’s. 

He felt her before he heard her, the knock at the door, soft and almost hesitant. He made his way to the entry, barefooted and wearing only thin lounge pants. 

There she stood, hair loose and recently washed, wearing a simply cut dress that looked worn, but comfortable. The scent of her washed over him, and something of the tension inside of him eased. Her eyes were swirling with words and thoughts, but behind it burned that intensity, rippling like heat from a forge. 

“Hello, Nesta.” He said softly. At the words she looked at him like her heart was cracking. He took her hand and led her down the hallway and into the living room. 

They stood and faced each other, not touching, but not far apart. She opened her mouth and then closed it and swallowed. 

“I’m sorry.” She said, voice scratchy and barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t…” she trailed off. “I’m just sorry.” She finished. He wondered how often in her life she’d apologized to anyone. But he knew she really meant it. Could feel it. For all the hurt and heartbreak, for the past two years and the past twenty-four hours -she meant it.

They stood staring at each other, as Cassian took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers and leaned in until their faces were only a breath apart. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, just staring, searching, like gazing into the hearth-fire in each other's eyes, but finally he leaned down and brushed a kiss on her lips, chaste and sweet. 


	8. Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebuilding. Sexual tensions rise again.

The morning sunlight was streaming through the windows and Cassian tightened his grip around the slim body in his arms.  _ Gods, the smell of her _ . He thought, inhaling deeply, and nuzzling her hair with his nose. They were lying in his bed, her soft breathing the only sound. She’d been there almost two weeks, not bothering to go back to her place, even for clothes- but just wearing some soft, comfortable clothes he’d had someone drop off for her. She was wearing them now, and he could feel the warmth of her body through the thin material. Desire surged up inside his gut, catching him off guard. But he reigned it back in. Leashed it. Now was not the time. They hadn’t done anything since the disaster of her leaving. Not even kissed since that first night. They held each other at night, curled into each other’s arms, but only slept. As if equally aware that some ground needed to be rebuilt in other ways. 

He mulled over the glimpse he’d caught of her thoughts one night through the bond. She’d been musing how, after wielding sex like a weapon for so long -as something that gave her power and control over someone, -that in some ways it felt  _ more intimate _ to just sleep next to him and have nothing happen. The thought was profoundly beautiful. And so profoundly sad. But he was glad that after everything they’d been through, they had this chance to try again, maybe start over. 

_ But… _ he had to admit, a slow grin creeping onto his face, it wasn’t like they’d stopped wanting each other either. Not when they now knew what it could be like with the other. But, they’d been dancing around each other since she had come back, hampered by a new awkwardness. Keeping the sexual side of their relationship carefully locked down. 

He’d caught glimpses of her desire too, sometimes a raging forest fire before -she quickly smothered it. Their eyes would meet, and he would catch the ghost of a smile on her lips, but they’d both let it pass. 

However, he mused, it seemed that for the past few days, the tension between them had taken on something… edged. 

He’d noticed her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking: removing a sweaty shirt after a workout, or stepping into the shower. He’d glimpsed that ravenous hunger in her eyes beneath lowered lashes sometimes in the evenings when he cooked them dinner or when they sat together reading. Like her mind had wandered somewhere delicious. And sometimes in the middle of the night... Cauldron, the night before last it had taken everything he had to leash that thing inside him when she’d started moaning in her sleep. And she’d been dreaming of him. She’d practically been stroking him through the bond. He swallowed hard at the memory. After she’d drifted off into another dreamscape he’d been left sweating and breathing through gritted teeth for the remainder of the night. 

So, it hadn’t  _ really _ been  _ intentional _ , but the next morning he couldn’t seem to help it… when he’d accidentally brushed his fingertips low against her stomach, how he’d forgotten to wear a shirt to breakfast, the groaning when he stretched that may or may not have resembled sounds of ecstasy. Yes, he realized, it was a bit… unsportsmanlike, and gods knew she could probably beat him at this game, but Nesta, he thought, perhaps needed reminding that  _ real love, real sex _ , wasn’t about getting the upper hand, but was about being willing  _ to want _ -willing to let yourself be vulnerable enough to  _ desire _ . 

Good sex, Cassian thought, perhaps a bit too philosophically, and real relationship too, was an exercise in risk, because when you let yourself  _ want _ , you could never be truly sure if the other person wanted you as much as you wanted them. But he wanted her to know that it was worth it. He needed her to remember that she wanted him- as much as he wanted her. That it would be ok risk. Especially with him. 

They were still sweetly spooned beneath the sheet. Keeping his own arousal carefully locked down, he stretched his arms above his head, at the same time grinding his groin lightly into her supple bottom. Her even breathing caught. As he attempted to untangle their bodies and sheets, his hand  _ accidentally _ grazed across the lower curve of her breast. This time she sucked in sharply and though her eyes remained closed, he could now tell she was very much awake. 

“Morning,” he mumbled groggily, but before arousing her suspicions, he rolled sideways and out of bed, stretching again before heading to the bathroom. 

When he came back into the room, Nesta was still lying in the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but with a glazed faraway look. “Everything all right?” He inquired, brows raised. She turned, gray-blue eyes focusing on him like a hawk. Though the intensity of the look felt like it would bore right through him, but her face was unreadable. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and while her glance flicked to his chest for a moment, her face gave nothing away. But then she paused and said, 

“I’m hungry.” And then, for just a moment, that hunger flashed in those piercing eyes. 

A wicked grin grew on Cassian's face as he nonshalontly asked, 

“Oh? Are you hungry for anything in particular?” Without meaning to, Nesta bared her teeth at him. 

“Nothing special, that’s for sure.” As she said. But her eyes stayed on him. 

Cassian's grin grew even wider. So much for playing innocent, he thought. But this  _ was _ their favorite game. He’d lit the match, now he just hoped that they would both be standing when they finished. 

“I’ll see if I can find you something,” he said sweetly, and headed out of the bedroom. 

When Nesta finally came to sit at the kitchen counter, Cassian poured himself and Nesta a cup of steaming coffee. He walked around to where she sat, and leaning over her shoulder he placed the mug in front of her; His warm breath tickling her face and neck. 

“Good morning, Nesta.” He cooed. 

She glared at him as he withdrew from the close proximity.  _ Oh, this was going to be fun _ .  _ If it didn’t kill him _ , he noted as an afterthought. 

He ate his own breakfast, his eyes never leaving hers. Grinning at her after each bite. She was more attentive to her breakfast than usual, though she shot him an occasional daggered look. 

She got up to put her dish in the sink, and Cassian glided behind her, brushing his body against hers where she stood. She stiffened, but said nothing as he too put his dish in the sink. He waited for her venom, but she only took a short breath and stood like a statue until he moved away. He could see the pulse racing in her neck, but otherwise she revealed nothing of what was going on in that head of hers. He watched her, a bland smile on his face, as she studiously avoided eye contact. 

“Do you want to come with me today?” He suddenly ventured. He had only offered once before, and she had declined. Preferring to stay in and read books and avoid the world in general in the tentative haven they had created here. She looked at him sharply, but there was hesitation in her stance, something of… curiosity. His heart felt like it fluttered as he looked at her. 

“Where?” She asked, surprising him. 

“Do you like mountains?” He asked, his eyes gleaming. 


	9. The Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta reflects.

[nesta]

Cassian has started torturing her. Nesta had suspected it for a few days, but now she was sure of it. It has been almost 2 weeks since they’d… reunited. She was grateful for the time that they had been taking, not rushing into anything. And it had given her time to reflect on some things. 

For instance, it had made her realize that she had never had truly  _ good sex _ . Not that her lovers hadn’t been pleasing, or that she hadn’t enjoyed herself - because she certainly had; but what she’d experienced with Cassian... had been on another level. 

She snorted to herself and cringed at the thought of him ever learning she’d had such a thought. Cauldron, she’d never hear the end of it. Like his head needed swelling any further. 

But having that with someone who meant more than a fun time. Who meant  _ much more _ ? It made the other times pale in comparison. 

Nesta sighed. She wasn’t sure if she should retaliate against his torturous teasing, or just... see where it led. But, she noted, squeezing her thighs tightly, that she was feeling a bit like water, just before it started to boil. 

_ Gods _ , she couldn’t help it as her mind wandered. She just wanted him to hold her down and fuck her senseless, she wanted him to brush the entirety of her body with gentle lips. She wanted him to kiss her slow and deep, and she wanted him to bite and bury into her. She wanted him so badly, it had begun to feel like a perpetual ache low in her abdomen. Fraying her nerves like they were receiving a constant low level voltage. She was grateful for these two weeks they had had to reacquaint themselves with one another in a different way. A more solid, relationship kind of way… but it was going to drive her mad if she had to hold out much longer from touching him, and being touched. Her hand trailed over her own body, remembering. 

The other morning she’d had a dream about him. Again. And then she’d started to wake and she could feel the hardness of his body fitted behind her, and the scent of him was all around her. He smelled like a wind off snowy mountains, leather and something subtle and sweet, like vanilla or pipe smoke.  _ Oh gods, she just wanted to wrap herself in the scent of him like a blanket. _ It was intoxicating and made her feel both languid and alert, like she’d become intensely aware of the feel of everything around her and inside. It made something wriggle inside her and her body felt strange, like it was too tight, too loose, too warm. She’d taken another deep breath of him and stretched slowly, reveling in every point of contact between his firm body and hers. That primal part of her had started pacing back and forth in its cage again at the recollection. Nesta sighed. 

So now she’d agreed to go with him to the mountains. She wasn’t sure what had made her say yes. But, she had never really seen mountains before. And she decided she actually wanted to. She wanted to see more of this world, of him, of …what could be.

The thought of opening up still terrified her. The thought of rallying yet again, to face the world and life and “him”- it made her want to crawl back in bed, escape again into a book or a bottle, but she figured it was time for her to try something else. The last strategy clearly hadn’t worked. And now there was this new thing between her and him. This… bond. Something she was in fact curious to explore. 

From what Feyre had told her about her experience with Rhys, what was between her and Cassian had not yet solidified for either of them. It was there, in skeletal form, and she wasn’t sure what to think that it hadn’t yet fully manifested for either. But, she was trying hard not to dwell on it. As much as it had been a new and fascinating experience to have an internal tether to another person, and a frequent hotline to their emotions or thoughts, it still made her nervous and left her feeling exposed. She snorted again.  _ Like her own thoughts and emotions weren’t  _ more than enough _ to deal with _ . 

So, she pulled on the winter wool dress that Cassian had retrieved for her, and mentally prepared herself to face this next unknown. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first published fanfic ever...  
> I enjoyed the sexual tension throughout ACOTAR series and thought I'd try my hand at writing some smut. :) Please forgive my excessive commas.
> 
> And seriously thank you for all the comments and kudos. You all are so supportive.


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